


Maskless

by ellaisall



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pet Store, F/M, Love at First Sight, Meet-Cute, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Minor Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29743317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellaisall/pseuds/ellaisall
Summary: Stan works a pet store during the pandemic and falls in love at first sight.
Relationships: Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61





	Maskless

The first thing Stan notices about her is her mask. 

He always looks up when customers enter the store, ready to pounce if any of them aren’t complying with the state’s mask mandate. Ninety percent of the time, the maskless are apologetic - _So sorry! Forgot it in the car! I’ll be right back!_ \- which is fine. Stan has his manager’s blessing to eviscerate the assholes who are defiant about it. He and Bev, the two sales associates with the shortest fuses, take turns telling them off. They have a running tally behind the counter of how many anti-government rants they’ve been subjected to that day. Mike buys everyone iced coffees when they break a new record. It’s the little things.

Stan hears the chime that signals the front door opening. He stops leaning against the counter on reflex. He looks up, again on reflex, to scrutinize who is entering. One woman, mid-twenties, Stan’s age. She’s wearing a mask. The black cloth stretched across her face has white text that says _I HAVE A NOSE RING._ Amusing.

The second thing Stan notices, despite the fact that he can make out maybe one-third of her face, is that she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. 

“Oh my god,” Mike says, in the voice he reserves for customers he anticipates being cool, “I _love_ your mask.”

The customer stops a few paces from the counter, wiping her fogged-up glasses on the edge of her sweater. She raises her head to acknowledge Mike’s compliment.

“Thanks,” she says, and Stan could swoon from hearing just that one word. 

“I _have to_ get one. That’s the real downside of working retail during the pandemic, no one can see how cool I am under here,” Mike continues.

Mike is a great manager. Patient, no ego, plethora of bizarre stories to share when it’s slow. He knows his employees’ strengths, and tries his best to avoid assigning them the tasks that they personally find most unpleasant. This is to say that when both he and Stan are available, Mike will step in and make small talk with customers. Stan tolerates these interactions - he works in customer service, he knows what he signed up for - but Mike genuinely enjoys the conversation. Usually, Stan is grateful. At this specific moment in time, Stan is _aching_.

The customer smiles. He can’t see her mouth, of course. But he watches the smile slowly take shape on her face, the way the tops of her cheeks rise, her eyes crinkle. He’s transfixed. “Oh, totally,” she says.

“What are you in for today, Patty?” Mike asks. 

_Patty._

Stan always marvels at Mike’s ability to remember customers’ names, but right now it feels like a godsend.

“First time dog parent,” Mike explains to Stan. “Got her set up last week with the essentials. Everything working out okay?”

Patty nods. “Yeah! Yeah, um, everything’s great. Still transitioning her to the new food. I just, uh. I think I want to look at clothes? It’s supposed to be really cold next week…”

“We got new stock in this morning,” Stan cuts in. “Of. Sweaters and coats. For dogs. I can show you?”

Stan habitually does not offer to escort customers to different areas of the store. He knows Mike is looking at him curiously, can feel it on his skin. He’ll have to explain himself later. But right now, Patty’s eyes brighten at his words, and Stan realizes he would do anything to make her happy. He has never felt this motivated in his entire fucking life. 

He brushes past Mike, gathering every grain of courage he can muster, and then they’re walking together. 

“So, first dog?” Stan says to her, as casually as he can manage. 

Patty is taller than Stan, but the distance between them is large enough that he hardly has to look up to make eye contact. One quick glance down and yep, not wearing heels, she’s built that way. _Fuck._

“Yep. I didn’t have any pets growing up, so I have no fucking clue what I’m doing,” she says. 

They cut through one of the dog food aisles. Stan was wondering where Bev had run off to, but there she is, carrying four huge bags of kibble, easily over one hundred pounds. He is not at all surprised to see Bev’s favorite regular following close behind. Some guy Bev hooked up with once in high school, nicer than her usual type, polite and bashful. He volunteers for a local rescue and has several huge dogs of his own. He’s in a lot.

The regular is perfectly capable of lifting the dog food by himself, has two more bags slung over his shoulder, but Bev loves to show off. Stan and Patty step to the side and give them room to pass. Stan hopes that Bev notices them, hopes that Patty will get her approval once he inevitably whines about her later. 

Stan is dismayed to find the dog clothing section a mess. He spent a long time organizing it this morning. He hates customers. It’s not that hard to put things back the way you found them. 

“I don’t even know where to start,” Patty says, shattering his annoyance. 

“Luckily you’re with a dog apparel expert,” Stan says. 

He hopes he is smiling with his eyes. Patty certainly is.

She’s drawn to one of the new sweaters, burgundy and striped. Stan rests his hand on one of the haphazard piles. “Let’s see what size you should get. What breed is she?” he asks.

“Oh, rescue mutt. No idea. Do you want to see pictures?”

Stan is nearly always willing to look at customers’ pet pictures. It’s one of the perks of the job. Patty starts to tap at her phone, and Stan gets closer to her than he usually risks. He hasn’t stood this close to a stranger in nearly a year. He feels like he’s in Victorian England, the way this closeness makes his stomach swoop.

“This is Sabrina,” she says, tilting the phone screen toward Stan. The dog is cute, medium-sized with a short, cream-colored coat, dark nose, and bat ears. She’s looking up at the camera, laying on the edge of a couch with her paws crossed, demure.

“Part lab, definitely,” Stan says, “But look at those ears! What a sweetheart.”

Patty swipes through more photos: Sabrina in the car, Sabrina asleep in a dog bed, Sabrina chewing a rope toy. Stan swallows hard when a picture of Patty pops up on the screen. There she is, maskless, with a wide, genuine smile as Sabrina licks her face. She’s somehow more attractive than his brain pieced together. Fuller lips, dimples. The nose ring deserves to be advertised. 

“So cute,” he says. His heart pounds from his honesty, despite the plausible deniability. 

“I know, right.” 

Patty locks her phone. Neither of them take a step back. Reckless. 

“Any idea what she weighs?” 

“She’s maybe approximately thirty-seven pounds?”

Her specificity tickles him. “Approximately thirty-seven pounds,” he nods.

“Give or take.”

“Well,” he gently reaches for the tag, flipping it over and resting the tip of his index finger against the size chart. “For a dog of approximately thirty-seven pounds, I’d go with a large. Hard to know for sure without trying it on.”

Patty nods and takes the large sweater, cradling it in her arms. “Okay. Think I should get it now?”

“You can always come back in and exchange it if it doesn’t fit,” Stan adds, mentally making a note to hide a medium and an extra-large in the back, just in case Patty needs it. He is technically not supposed to do that. But if Mike catches him, he’ll simply explain that it was necessary for the pursuit of true love, and all will be forgiven. That dopey look Mike gets when his fiancé brings him flowers? He’s definitely a hopeless romantic. 

“Or,” Stan continues, pressing his luck, “Hold off for now, and you can bring her in another day?”

“Not going for the sale now. Interesting,” Patty says. “You sure, Stan?”

He hates when customers say his name. When Patty says it, his knees go weak. 

_Please let me see you again._ “Sure, way easier to figure out sizing if I can check the fit myself. I want to make sure you’re happy. With the sweater. Both of you.”

Patty looks down at her feet. “I’m warning you, she sometimes pees when she’s excited.”

“Don’t we all?”

Why the fuck did Stan say that? Hello? _Get a grip!_

Patty snorts. It’s adorable. 

“Seriously, no big deal,” Stan recovers. “I’d be happy to help. And I’m here every day this week from noon to close, so.”

“Noon to close. Got it,” Patty says, nodding slowly. She takes the sweater from her arms, folds it, and straightens up the pile she returns it to. 

They take a different route on the way back to the register. Stan nods at Richie as they pass through the aquatic section. A few weeks ago, Richie suddenly started volunteering to take closing shifts, leaving the rest of them aghast. Then Stan met the new hire: big dark eyes, mouthy, only available during the evenings. Stan’s been friends with Rich long enough that he needed no further explanation. Richie and the new guy - something with an E? Stan is _horrible_ with names - are bickering as they clean out a fish tank. 

“I should get a bone or something. While I’m here,” Patty says once the register is in sight.

Stan grabs her a No-Hide, and takes his place behind the counter. The phone starts to ring. He scans the room, but no other employees are nearby. He winces at Patty apologetically. 

“Go ahead, answer it, I’ll wait,” she says.

The phone call is uneventful. Someone asking for the store’s hours, information easily retrieved from Google and/or their website. Irritating but simple to answer. Patty rolls her eyes sympathetically. 

“Your name tag says Stan but on the phone you call yourself Stanley,” Patty says when he hangs up. 

Stan tilts his head, considering. “Oh, I guess you’re right.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“No preference. I don’t know. Never thought about it.”

Patty nods slowly. They wait for a beat, looking at each other through the plexiglass. This part of the store is quiet, the corporate-approved pop playlist fading into background noise. She slides the bone to him. Stan scans the barcode, and the _BEEP_ is ear-splitting. His taps on the POS system’s touch screen resound like thunder. 

“Can I get your phone number?” Stan asks, fingers hovering over the keypad.

Patty raises her eyebrows at him.

“Oh, uh. Not like- To check if you have a rewards card with us,” Stan responds to her continued silence, panicky. He hopes his blush isn’t visible.

She rattles off her number, pausing every few digits. Makes it easier for him to be accurate. Courteous.

Stan does his stupid head wobble as he waits for the computer to load. She’s either looking very intently at him or at something behind him. Stan has no way of knowing. They stand there for a decade, waiting for the damn POS system to get its shit together. The name Patty Blum appears on the screen, and he shoots her a thumbs up. 

She doesn’t need a receipt. She tucks the bone into the reusable grocery bag she’s carrying. Environmentally conscious. A goddess. 

Stan waits until she exits the building to crumple to the floor. 

“What happened, drama king?” Mike says from above. 

“I think I just met my soulmate,” he groans. 

He opens one eye, and looks up to find Mike holding a small container of water. A blue fish with bright flowing fins swims in it happily. 

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“If I bring home another betta, Bill’s gonna kill me,” Mike mutters. 

“He did say that, yeah.”

Mike hums and taps his fingers against his thigh, considering. “There’s plenty of room in his office. He’ll get over it.”

Stan returns to a standing position, still reeling. “Mike. I’m in love,” he says emphatically.

Mike spares him an amused glance as he gently places the betta container on the counter. “With Professor Patty?”

“She’s a professor?”

Mike laughs. “You’re in love but you know nothing about her. Sure.”

“I- hey! We have a _connection._ ”

Mike laughs at him again. So much for his hopeless romantic theory. 

* * *

Stan shows up to his next shift about ten minutes early, as usual. Mike always tells him that that is unnecessary; he’s incredibly lenient with Bev and Richie, who are both typically on time- _is_ _h_. But Stan likes to start work slowly, take his time parking his car and straightening his name tag. 

As he crosses the parking lot, he sees Patty waiting outside of the store. Her dog is sniffing at the patch of dead grass. Patty waves with the hand not gripping Sabrina’s leash. He smiles at her. She smiles back. Stunning.

Then Stan realizes that even if they’re outside, he really should be wearing a mask if he’s going to talk to her. Patty seems to have the same realization, reaching into her pocket as Stan slips the loops of his mask over his ears. He hangs back while she puts hers on. 

“Hey,” she says when he approaches. 

“Hey,” he says, then squats down to greet Sabrina. 

“Hi, pretty girl!” Stan says brightly, holding his palm out for Sabrina to smell. She is very receptive of his greeting; she bumps her head into Stan happily, so forceful she almost knocks him over. “Aww, look at you, not friendly at all!”

Patty watches the two of them. Stan grins up at her. 

“I can help you with the sweaters as soon as I clock in,” he says, in a blend of his speaking-to-dogs and speaking-to-humans voices. 

“I’m actually glad I caught you, Stanley,” Patty says. “I uh. You aren’t on the clock, so customer service niceness doesn’t apply, please feel free to tell me to fuck off-”

Stan tilts his head. He’s still rubbing Sabrina’s ears. Her tail wags excitedly, thwacking Patty’s legs. 

“I wanted to ask for your phone number? Not for a rewards card,” Patty laughs, sounding nervous. “For um. I think you’re very cute. And you probably aren’t, but on the off chance that you’re single, I would love to take you on a fucking, like, socially-distanced date?”

_Oh._

“Like I said, uh, you don’t need to pretend to be interested if you aren’t,” Patty continues. Babbling. Nervous. _Wow._ “It felt weird to hit on you at work..."

He stands up carefully. “Patty, I am very single, and I would love that.”

“Yeah?” Patty says, sounding breathless.

“Yeah! Yes.”

The two of them sort of squirm, matching stupid smiles blissfully hidden. In normal times, he’d try to kiss her, maybe. Probably not. They just met.

He’ll spend his break reading pandemic dating advice articles. Right now, Stan gives Patty his number, watches her add a heart emoji to his contact name. Sabrina wiggles her butt at him. They enter the store together. He clocks in at 12:01.

**Author's Note:**

> i dedicate this story to my former coworkers. rip pet valu.
> 
> come hang out with me on twitter @ellaisall


End file.
